Sharp Edges
by skeletonofsomethingmore
Summary: The first time Otabek saw him, his golden hair was cut short, hanging loose around his sharp jaws. He was only thirteen, but already then, Yuri Plisetsky seemed to look at the world through cold eyes that had seen far too much already.
1. Chapter 1

_**One**_

 _Preface_

The first time Otabek saw him, his golden hair was cut short, hanging loose around his sharp jaws. He was only thirteen, but already then, Yuri Plisetsky seemed to look at the world through cold eyes that had seen far too much already. But Otabek could see it even then- how the young boy tried so desperately to be all sharp edges. And he might have angles- cutting bone structure and nothing more than skin, muscle and bone- but when he moved he was soft like a feather. Graceful, in a way thirteen year old boys couldn't be without being judged, laughed at. He never got to talk to him, he only saw him passing by on his way to practice, or eating his lunch alone. After all, he was two years below him so they didn't practice in the same age group. He only saw him that summer, but Otabek always wondered what happened to the young boy and wherever he'd come from in the first place. He just didn't seem to belong to this world.

 _Yuri_

"Again." He bends his knee, prepares and then push himself up, putting all his weight on the toes of his left foot. He twirls, lands and regains his position.

"Again." He repeats the pirouette, his feet sore, his muscles burning. This is how it continues. Everyday for as long as he could remember. Was it pain more than passion now? No. He can not recall ever feeling anything when he was not on the ice, or in the studio. Not since that day. And he has been training now, training for so long and he is so close. It makes him forget his sore feet, covered in blisters, forget how every single movement hurts at the end of the day.

"Again." Lilia Baranovskaya barks and once again, he complies.

The rink is cold, but when he is finished, he can barely feel it anymore. Sweat covers his forehead and he gathers his hair into a ponytail to keep it from plastering to his skin. When he removes his skates he is shaking, _vibrating_. He lets out a few unsteady breaths. The ice before him holds expectation and a promise. A promise of something _more_.

When Yuri turns the key and walks into the small apartment, he finds a letter resting on the doormat. A letter in a red envelope. He gingerly picks it up, puts it on the small table. He takes off his coat, goes into the bedroom and lies down on the bed. He closes his eyes for a few moments, takes a deep breath. _So close._ He stands up, walks over to the phone hanging on the wall. He pushes in the well known number combination. It only rings once before there is a click.

"Yurio?" The same voice that always answers.

"Grandfather. He's back." There is a short silence.

"I will call Yakov. He will take you in." Then the line goes dead.

 _Otabek_

At eighteen years old, Otabek can almost touch his freedom. He is back. Back in Russia and training for Yakov. He is training for real this time, for nationals, for the grand prix final. There is barely time for school anymore, just straight to the rink after it and then back to the small apartment where he's staying. But that isn't his home- the rink is his home now, his sanctuary. He's always felt a little trapped back in his hometown, the same town he's been in all his life. The only time he's left was when he'd gotten a spot at Yakov's summer programme, three years ago. And during those two months in Moscow he realized that if he worked as hard as he could for the next three years, he could actually make something- he could be someone. And it was back in Moscow that he saw him again- exactly the same, yet so incredibly different- as if he'd endured a thousand lifetimes of pain.

"Good work Altin. You might actually have a shot in the finals." Yakov says, giving Otabek a slap on the back before walking out of the rink. Otabek sits down on the bench, unstrapping his skates slowly. His muscles are sore, but in a good way- in a way that make him feel stronger. He is just about ready to leave when he hears a soft melody coming out of the speakers. He frowns and cranes his to see a small shape enter on the other side of the rink. Short and lean, the figure skates out to the center and Otabek inhales softly as the shape is brought to light. The blonde hair that used to stubbornly fall into his eyes is now long and braided on both sides, meeting in the middle. This only shows off the sharp cheekbones, defined eyebrows and the striking green-blue eyes, still as distant and cold. But then he raises a pale, petite hand and starts moving and it takes Otabek's breath away. Because where Yuri Plisetsky had tried so desperately to be sharp, he has embraced everything he'd been teased about, everything that made him the laughingstock. He is vibrantly feminine as he started to move- soft and graceful across the ice and Otabek has never seen anything so beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

_Yuri_

"So you're back for good this time?" Yakov asks, slightly irritated. Yuri doesn't look up.

"I just need to stay here for awhile. And a place to practice." Yakov paces before him slowly and huffs angrily before coming to a halt.

"Last time you left right before your debut. After all the hard work."

"This time it's different. I can't leave." Yakov laughs.

"And why is that, Yurio? How do I know you won't just disappear again?" His tone is mocking. Yuri clenches his fists.

"He found me. It doesn't matter anymore."

Every night, after all the other skaters practices are over, Yuri gets the rink all to himself. Yakov has allowed him the unofficial practice time, when it's supposedly empty. At least for now. And after morning ballet classes and some crammed in school time, Yuri needs all those hours each night. He straps on his skates, gets out on the ice and even though his muscles are sore, he can somewhat relax. That is, until the loud crash that one night broke him out of his peaceful little bubble. A loud crash with brown eyes, watching him, _seeing_ him. Driving him insane.

 _Otabek_

He doesn't know why, but after his practice the next night he stays at the rink, waiting for him to show up. He just needs to know, for some reason. Know if he'll appear again. And he does. He skates out on the ice, magnificent as ever. His eyes are closed as he moves across the ice, his movements lean and graceful. Otabek finds himself standing up, walking closer. He doesn't watch where he put down his foot and the next thing he knows, the boxes stacked at the side falls over, making a loud sound as the content spill out. He holds his breath, watches as Yuri's head snaps up and his cold gaze pierces into him. He drops his hands as soon as he sees Otabek, becomes completely still for a few moments. Then his eyes fill with rage.

"What are you doing here?" He asks coldly. "Your practice is over." Otabek frowns.

"The rink is closed. No one is supposed to be here." Yuri's eyes reveal nothing as he looks at him.  
"I'm supposed to be here. Now leave." Yuri closes his eyes. Otabek opens his mouth but before he can say anything, the boy speaks again.

"Leave!" There is so much force behind his words, so much anger. Otabek holds up his hands in surrender.  
"I'll leave." He says, "but I can't promise I won't be back."

 _Yuri_

His headphones are on full blast and he is angrily scribbling down notes for his next class.

 _I can't promise I won't be back._ Those words have echoes in his head ever since last night. Yuri recognized him- the intruder. He'd been at the same summer program three years ago. Otabek Altin, from Kazakhstan. Yuri can't say he hadn't noticed him back then. Though to be fair, most people did. He was different on the ice, not like the other male skaters. He was tall and he had muscle, perhaps too much for the optimal skater body, but somehow he made it work. He was more masculine somehow, raw in his movements even if they were precise. Everything Yuri had tried to be. He was also two years his senior and had probably never noticed him. He was probably one of the people who laughed at him. Because what was he in comparison? A fragile little child. He clench his fist so hard that the pen nearly burns a hole through the paper. In the midst of his anger, he hears the chair on the opposite side of the table scrape against the floor as someone pulls it out and sits down. Yuri's head snaps up and there he is. Otabek. He pulls out his headphones harshly and tries his best to send him a glare.

"Not a fan of biology?" He says with a smile. Yuri frowns. Otabek nods towards his biology books and angry scrawled notes spread out in front of him.

"Oh." Is all he manages. Otabek lets out a small laugh and Yuri swallows, his hand sweaty and warm all of the sudden.  
"So you are back and training with Yakov?" He asks. Yuri frowns.

"No. He just let's me use the rink." Otabek raises his eyebrows.

"Too proud for a trainer, Plisetsky?" He teases. Yuri's eyes widen slightly when he hears his own name slip from the Kazakhs lips. He covers it up with a glare.

"I'm not competing. Not yet." Otabek frowns.

"Why not? You could easily qualify, you're better than half of the skaters that train there." Then the bell rings and Yuri is relieved to find an escape.

Before he leaves he turns around with a sarcastic smile.

"Don't be absurd. I'm better than the whole bunch of you."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Three**_

 _Yuri_

Three weeks after his return to Moscow, Yuri starts to feel as though his limbs are softening. This is not really the case, but without his ballet training he feels weaker, both on the ice and outside of it. He feels clumsier, _heavier_. But then he walks past it when he's just about to leave school one afternoon. It isn't half as big as the one back in St. Petersburg, but it's a dance studio nonetheless. An empty dance studio. He hesitates before he finally walks in. The lights are out but even in the dark it looks adequate enough. The next day he returns and brings his things. He plugs in his ipod to the stereo and almost feels like himself again. He lets the music flow through his limbs and the familiar pain as new blisters form on his softened feet after weeks with no practice feels good somehow. His arms forms the familiar arches and it burns but it's perfect. When the music silence he stands in his end position, sweat running down his forehead and then he hears a small clap from behind him. He turns around, still short of breath to finds soft brown eyes that make his heart beat even faster.

 _Otabek_

Otabek doesn't like to slip behind with schoolwork but when you dedicate your time to practice and spend at least four hours a day on it, school easily gets neglected. So once a week he has to stay extra, make up for the homework he's forgotten. It's understandable and as long as Otabek passes he figures it will be fine. But he hates feeling this goddamn _stupid_. He sighs as he make his way down the corridor, collecting his things by his locker. It's already half past four so he'll probably be back at the hotel by eleven tonight if he completes his whole practice time. Yakov wouldn't let him do otherwise. As he is just about to leave he suddenly hears a faint sound. Piano music, softly coming from not too far away. He frowns and starts walking towards the sound. As he turns around the bend of the corridor he notices that the door to the old dance studio is slightly ajar. The studio no one uses anymore. Curious now, he walks up to the door quietly and when he sees the person inside part of him isn't surprised but he is still left breathless at the sight. It's Yuri. In pointe shoes, standing on his tiptoes. It's different somehow, the way he moves compared to on the ice. He seems even more soft and fragile somehow, but strong at the same time. The muscles under his tight ballet suit are toned and defined, even though he still maintained a slank and slim figure. He looks taller and even more graceful, standing on the tip of his toes. When the music ends he remains in the last position for awhile before dropping his arms, his chest moving rapidly. Otabek figures he'd be a dead man if Yuri ever caught him sneaking up on his again so he slowly raised his hands and starts clapping. Yuri whirls around, his eyes wide and his cheeks slightly flushed as he looks at Otabek in confusion.

"I thought something was different from when you were younger. I could see it in the way you skate." Yuri composes himself and presents the more collected and cold expression he usually wears.

"I was soft back then." He says, his words hard. "I should have began practicing ballet sooner." He roll his shoulders slowly, wincing slightly as though he's sore.

"So you're stalking me now?" Yuri says his lips pulling up slightly. Otabek points to the books in his arms.  
"Extra study time. So I don't fail mathematics." He answers with a roll of the eyes. Yuri sits down on the floor and starts to untie his shoes.

"All time goes to practice." He says and there's something melancholy in his voice. There's a short silence.

"Are you heading back to the hotel?" Otabek asks after a while. Yuri looks up, a stray of hair falling from the bun on the top of his head. He nods slightly.  
"Come on then. Let's go." He says and Yuri stared at him in confusion for awhile before standing up and arching one eyebrow.  
"No practice Altin? You really are slipping." He teases. Otabek shakes his head with a smile.  
"I need to get my thing before practice and get there in time so that Yakov doesn't kill me. So let's go." Yuri pulls a pair of sweats over his tights and grabs his bag and jacket.  
"Best to not piss of Yakov." Is all he said.

 _Yuri_

"You remember me from the summer camp?" He asks skeptically but he feels his cheeks heat up a little. It's cold outside and he's skin feels a little flushed so he prays Otabek can't tell.

"You were the best in your age group. Even better than some of the older ones." Otabek says. They're walking side by side, their breaths small smoke puffs in the air as they exhale.

"And you were in the top of yours." Yuri remarks. "Everyone knew who you were. I was just the young kid they'd let in anyway." The summer camp had really been for kids who were fourteen to sixteen but they'd accepted Yuri anyway after seeing him skate in the junior competition in Russia. He'd placed first and he remembers how proud he'd been. How proud his grandfather had been.

"There was a reason for that." Otabek says with a wink, "Besides- who could forget that tiny little kid with the determination of a giant." They arrive at the hotel and the warm air envelop them as they walk inside. Yuri feels that warmth spreading all over his skin and he wouldn't be surprised if he was bright red right about now. They enter the elevator and Otabek pushes the third button and looks at Yuri who simply answers.

"Five." The floors tick by and then they are at the third floor. Otabek walks out but turns around before the doors close.

"I'll see you around Yuri." He says and then adds with a soft voice the nickname they all gave Yuri when he was a junior skater;

" _The Russian Fairy."_ He always hated that nickname. But now he's not so sure.


	4. Chapter 4

_Otabek_

Otabek doesn't see much of the golden haired Russian for the next few days. He sees him passing in the hallway in school, sometimes he arrives at the rink just as Otabek leaves. He wants to approach him, somehow, but he's not sure how. Otabek was never the chatty type. He wasn't really sure what he was thinking when he walked up to Yuri in school. There had just been something about the way he kept staring at the page in frustration, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. And when he dances, or skated Otabek simply couldn't look away. But now he didn't know how to approach the whirlwind of a boy. Until lunch one day, when he was snapped from his thought by the feeling of being watched, only to look up and find a half frowning face.

 _Yuri_

He's not sure what he's thinking. All he knows is that it's been five days since they walked home together and he has this _itch_ to talk to him again. So when he finally sees him sitting alone at lunch one day he marches up with no clear intention and stops right in front of the kazak. Otabek looks up, a little confused but then smiles softly. Yuri drops his books on the table and sits down on the chair pulled out. He notices the open book in front of Otabek.

"No love for algebra. What did it ever do to you?" His voice is a bit gruff, but his stomach is fluttering. Otabek looks a little surprised but then the corners of his lips pull up slightly.

"It's algebra. I thought that was reason enough." Yuri shook his head and grinned.

"She'll always be misunderstood. Still doing all that extra study time?" Otabek nodded with a sigh.

"I can't very well fail high school can I?" Yuri shrugs.

"It'll cut away from practice time." Otabek runs a hand through his hand.

"Then how do you do it?" He asks, raising his eyebrow slightly. In that moment Yuri decided to be what he never is- forward. He might be blunt and he's often called a jerk for it but forward? He has a rule to stay as far away from people as he can. Which is why his following words surprise him.

"You didn't know? I'm fluent in algebra. If you're gonna have any chance at nationals I guess I'll have to teach you."

 _Otabek_

Otabek stares at Yuri in surprise but quickly tried to compose himself.

"Algebra, huh? There's more to you than meets the eye." Yuri rolls his eyes but there is a small smile on his lips.

"Will you accept help or not, Altin?" Otabek feels himself smile. The bell rings all of the sudden snapping him out of his thoughts. Yuri stands up and without thinking Otabek puts his hand over Yuri's slim wrist.

"Thank you, Yuri." He says, looking into his eyes. Yuri's cheeks are faintly pink as he nods before he turns and walks away. Otabek curl his finger into a fist. The skin of the Russian fairy was cold, but Otabek's fingers feel warm where they rested on his wrist.

During practice that evening he can't seem to focus. His legs feel sloppy as they move across the ice, his jumps only half as good as they usually are. He's… _giddy_. This is something new for him, the almost excitement in his stomach. But even though he's not at his best Yakov is unusually quiet. He gives him a few pointers but he seems distracted, somehow. When he's packed up his stuff and is about to leave he pass by Yakov's office and stops as he hears Yakov sigh.

"I'm not sure I can protect him either, Nikolai." There is a short silence, the person on the other end is speaking quietly and quickly.

"I know, but Yuri doesn't care about that anymore. He thinks he'll stay away now, after what happened last time." Otabek frowns. _Last time?_ More silence.

"I will try, Nikolai." Yakov's voice is as soft as he's ever heard it. The phone conversation ends and Otabek hastily moves on before he is noticed. As he walks home thoughts keeps spinning around his head. Who is after Yuri? And is this why he's been staying away from competing all these years?


End file.
